Stormy Nights
by queroro
Summary: Hermione Granger is afraid of storms. Now the Head Girl and has to share a dorm with Draco Malfoy, it seems she has no choice but to seek comfort from the weather in his companion. She finds that this isn't very hard to do. Completed.
1. Wednesday

It was still stormy outside when Malfoy returned. Hermione had begun worrying that he wasn't coming back at all. It wasn't that this was likely to happen, but her anxiety had stemmed from another emotion of higher magnitude; her fear of storms. Yes, Hermione Granger has a phobia other than failing her exams or missing classes.

In previous years, she would ask one of her dorm mates to let her sleep in their bed with them during stormy nights like this one. But now she was no longer living in the same dorm as Parvati or Lavender. Now she was stuck in the same dorm as the Head Boy, Draco Malfoy. Being the Head Girl and to have an almost private quarter to herself was only dreadful because of this.

Oh, curse this storm. It's not like she was not used to staying up all night studying anyway. Yes, tonight she will do just that, and not let this fear get the better of her.

Draco heaved a sigh of relief as he entered the common room which he shared with only one other student; the Head Girl. It was Wednesday, the most tiring day of the week for him, because his Wednesday timetable was filled with classes from the very first till the very last period. It was the reason for him sometimes doubting his decision of returning to Hogwarts for his unfinished seventh year. But tonight, he had no intention to ponder on any predicament of his. Tonight, he would go to bed early.

It was not quite the time for bed yet, so he opted for a bit of reading to exhaust his mind a little more before going to sleep. The book he was now reading was written by a muggle author who called himself "Lewis Carroll". It was _her_ favourite book. Draco remembered the first time he ever took notice of her; she was reading this very book to her cat at that time. He never found out what the cat's name was, because it had died before he got a chance to know it, and in any case she never called it by any specific name in the past. That night was as stormy as this one. Draco briefly wondered where she could be now.

Hermione tossed and turned in bed. The rain pattering down on her windows and the crackling in the dark night sky just _bothered _her so much. She got very sleepy after reading the chapter on Invisibility just ten minutes ago, but now that she's in bed, she was even more aware of the torrent outside. Agitated, she sat up and made for the room across from hers.

She knocked on the door thrice, but there was no answer, so she proceeded to open it and peered inside.

It was dark in the room; the embers were dying on the grate. Malfoy was already asleep. Hermione felt somewhat relieved at this thought; he would be too slow in thinking to upset her too much for what she had come in here to do.

"Malfoy?" she called out softly, but there was still no answer. She crossed the threshold and entered his room, closing the door behind her - although, after a few steps she realised that she wasn't very comfortable about the door being closed. She chose to leave it anyway.

Hermione put a tentative hand on the body lying in the bed and gave it a gentle sort of shake. The figure stirred, but it was too dark to look into his face and check what expression it held.

"Malfoy? Urm, it's me," she stomped on the little voice screaming in her head telling her to make a dash for the door and leave.

"What is it?" his voice lacked the patented smugness that usually came with every speech he utters. Yes, she could do this.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" While she fully expected him to throw her out of the room, she didn't hesitate asking the question. She wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

To Hermione's surprise - or rather, utter shock - Malfoy shifted to the other side of his bed and lifted the comforter a bit for her to slide in. Hermione stood frozen for a moment before doing just that. She lied down with her back to him, and then took one second to thank the dark heavens that Malfoy wasn't sleeping in the nude.

Then Malfoy did another thing that surprised her even more: he took her in his arms and held her tight. Hermione was going to scream, but somehow managed to stop herself; it was her decision that had brought her here after all.

"It's okay, Abby," his breath was warm in her ear.

But who was Abby? That was when she realised that Malfoy had only allowed her in his bed because he had thought that she was someone else. But he made no further remark after that, so she thought that Malfoy had went back to sleep and decided to leave things at that for now before allowing herself to drift into sleep in his warmth.

Draco was awakened by an incessant ringing from an alarm clock on his bedside table. His mind was still a blur as he reached out a hand to stop it. He felt over the few items on the table before grabbing one that was vibrating vigorously, and then went on to hurl it across the room and smash it into a wall. The ringing stopped instantly.

He cursed under his breath. He was having a very nice dream before the blasted thing pulled him back to reality. And now he couldn't remember what the dream was about. Still lying in bed with his eyes closed, he tried to recall on it. She had been in the dream, he was sure. She had wanted to sleep in his bed because… the storm was keeping her awake... and her hair had smelled of... apples?

A giggle from beside him pried his eyes open. He turned to find Hermione Granger smiling up at him. He returned her smile with an incredulous look on his face. What was the Head Girl doing in _his_ bed? Something in the back of his mind clicked into place. He wasn't dreaming when he had let her in his bed, and he had also mistaken Hermione Granger for her. More importantly, it also wasn't a dream when he had pulled her into his arms.

He silently berated himself. The two girls were physically dissimilar to each other in more than a thousand ways; how the bloody Hell did he manage that stupid mistake? But... he had survived the night, and now here Granger was smiling up at him. The whole situation can't be that bad, right?

"Er-"

"Thank you, Malfoy," she quickly cut in; no need to make him feel any more discomfited than he already was.

She hopped off his bed and left a very confused Malfoy in her wake. It had yet to interest her to find out who "Abby" was.

_**[Author's Notes]**_

_**[re-edit]**__ So I edited the drawing for this fanfic to become its cover. My final exams are in less than a month. I therefore procrastinate by re-visiting my old fanfics. No major edits were made, mind. I wish to thank you all for your support; I noticed that this story still get readers to this day. I wish you would tell me what you think of it, too. Please? ;)_

_**[edit]**__ I achieved my goals: to finish it within seven chapters (although it turns out that every chapter is nearly twice the length of the previous) and to settle the whole "what's an OC doing in a Dramione?" 'issue'. I would greatly appreciate it if you give this story a chance and read on __ I thank you in advance. _


	2. Thursday

That Thursday evening found Hermione staring into a bowl of soup at dinner. Her eyes weren't really fixed on anything, but her mind was entirely focused on what had happened on the previous night and earlier that morning.

How his hand held her smaller one in a gentle grasp, the steady beating of his heart against her back, his warmth, and how adorable it was when he threw that blasted clock into the wall only to return to sleep-

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ginny's voice brought her back to the present, one hand placed on her shoulder. It almost made her gasp.

"_Malfoy, adorable? I need to get a hold of myself!"_ she scolded herself in silence. "Yes, Ginny. I'm fine. 'Just didn't sleep very well last night."

Okay, that was lie. She slept like a baby last night, even with the raging storm outside, safe in his arms... Hermione shook the thought off her mind and decided to ignore this, stop it, for Merlin's sake, and scooped up some of that soup she'd been staring at for the past few minutes and get on with life already.

"_And remember he mistook you for someone else that time."_ She didn't know how she felt about this, even as she reminded herself.

"Oh... it was stormy last night," Ginny was saying. She knew that Hermione was never comfortable with sleeping in violent nights like that. The weather had been gloomy the entire day, too.

Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table with his back to the Gryffindors'. He had his sight fixed on something invisible floating in the air. He was too taken in by it that he hadn't realised it when Blaise took the seat next to him and went on to spare a good amount of time scrutinising him. Then Blaise snapped his fingers between Draco and the invisible something, pulling him out of his trance.

Draco blinked and turned to face the intruder. He cocked one eyebrow at him.

"What, something happened between you and the Head Girl last night? Just pull it together and finish dinner. We have an assignment due tomorrow," he said in an off-handed tone and proceeded to ignore Draco's reaction to his remark.

Which Draco was quite thankful for, because his reaction – eyes widened and mouth agape – would have let on more than he would forgive himself for. He quelled the shock in his face and reached for some random fruit on the table. Of course Blaise was just saying that, no need to panic.

He bit into the apple before looking to check what he'd just grabbed. Apples... her hair smelled like them. What a sweet smell. Draco mentally shook himself. He had let himself get so lost in thought all day, he must stop, now.

But apples. And how tall she was compared to whom he thought he was mistaking her for. And her warmth. He had to admit that he knew, even if it was unconsciously. And when she didn't pull away...

Blaise squeezed his shoulder and he was back again. "Let's go," the tall boy rose from the bench and Draco followed suit. As they were leaving the Hall, Draco couldn't stop his eyes from looking over the Gryffindor table. Their eyes met for a split second before Granger tore hers away.

Hermione was sitting in an armchair near the fireplace in the Heads' common room when it started pouring again. She looked up from the essay she was working on to scowl at the window. It had better be just rain, or she isn't going to get any sleep tonight. Earlier, she had decided against seeking comfort in Malfoy's bed again for the next storm. The stupid, stupid storm.

"_You're the stupid one. There isn't anything to storms worth being so afraid of. It's just water and thunder and..."_ a flash of light and a great crack in the air outside made her flinch. Curse this storm!

She turned back to the essay; twenty-three sodding inches on Invisibility spells. She was going to do more research on the subject in the library earlier, but when she reached the library she had caught sight of Malfoy's white-blonde hair sitting at one of the tables. She had then turned around and walked away on impulse. It was pathetic.

The sky rumbled again and there was another flash of lightning, prompting Hermione to drop her parchment and quill to cover her ears and shut her eyes, but the terrifying sound of thunder didn't come. She huffed and recovered her essay from the floor. Only another inch left before she's finished with it.

Draco absently followed Blaise into the library and took a seat at one of the tables near a window. The skies were threatening to pour unto the Earth again, as they did last night. No. He needed to stop thinking about last night.

Blaise laid two heavy tomes on the table right in front of Draco to shake him out of it again. He merely shook his head at the blonde when Draco glowered at him in return. "Can we just finish this assignment now?" At that, Draco took one of the volumes and began scanning the index without further remark.

They managed to finish the assignment just as the library was closing and Madam Pince was calling out for the remaining students to leave. With a sinking feeling, he parted with Blaise at the door and headed for his quarters alone. He decided to take slow steps.

Granger had wanted to sleep in his bed last night. Granger _did_ sleep in his bed last night. Granger had actually sought after him. That should mean she doesn't hate him that much anymore. Perhaps she had forgiven him for how he had treated her, and her friends, and, well, just about everybody else, in the past? He knew her to be forgiving; he had spent a lot of time, even in that dreaded past, watching her. And he hadn't made another scathing remark, concerning her at least, since they first returned to Hogwarts for their redo year... But could she really be that forgiving?

He was climbing up the flight of stairs that lead to the Heads' common room in South Tower now. He halted in his track halfway up. Was Granger back yet? He didn't know what to say to her now or how to act around her now. He brought his gaze to the ceiling as if in surrender and closed his eyes; the first thing he saw when he had first opened them this morning was Hermione Granger smiling up at him. He had only seen her smile like that when she was with Potter or Weasley. This morning it had been for him. Something tugged at the corner of his lips at this thought. Thank Merlin those two decided not to come back. They would occupy less of her time now. That's all she ever did, just give, give and give.

When he finally reached the common room, he was greeted by an almost-ear-splitting sound of thunder, which was immediately followed by a gasp from someone somewhere in the room. Draco looked around and saw no one. His eyes then fell onto the lit fireplace to the side, and then to the armchair near it which had its back to him. Was that where she sat every night, hiding from him?

Draco now found himself standing beside the armchair. He was watching her again; the bushy brown hair, her sharp elbows, her fair skin, her small hand clutching the quill and writing out her homework in impossibly small font...

Granger turned her head around to find him and yelped. "Malfoy! You made me blot my sentence!" she yelled, waving her wand over the parchment.

Draco mentally shook himself again. That was rude, sneaking up on people like that. "Sorry," he managed to say. He was suddenly very aware of his beating heart; it was hammering against his chest. He tried to remember what he had worked out to say to her earlier and failed. He felt like it was caught in his throat.

"Malfoy, about last night... I was just upset about something, I'm sorry I took advantage of you," Hermione was saying in a quiet voice.

"It's nothing, I - "

"I knew you didn't know it was me, but I didn't leave even then. That's why I'm sorry, and I promise it won't happen again," she obviously felt the need to get this over and done with already.

His heart sank. He _didn't want_ her to make that promise. _"Oh, don't you now?"_ Draco only nodded mutely to her. But wait...

"What do you mean, 'you knew'?"

"You, urm, apparently thought I was 'Abby'," neither of them had their eyes on the other up to this point.

"Did I...?" he asked, more to himself than her. But he _knew_ it was her, didn't he? Granger's the one who doesn't like storms, not her.

Nonetheless, that's what she heard. He wanted to turn and flee the room, but he was rooted to that spot. A huge part of him wanted to confess everything to her right there and then. He was still struggling in his mind when Granger spoke up again.

"If you don't mind me asking, Malfoy, who is Abby?" she was looking at him now with her head slightly tilted to the side. His entire inner struggle left him as he held the sight. Draco stared at her again.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that," she averted her eyes from him to the floor instead. He almost shook himself.

"Oh, not at all. It's just that... She was Silversmith," '_you're beautiful, you know that?'_ was the unsaid part of the sentence.

Realisation dawned on her face as it often does during classes. Draco, on the other hand, was still trying to think of something to say to her right now. "Sleep tight, Granger," was all he finally managed.

As he tossed and turned in bed that night, he wondered how Granger was doing with the storm still raging outside. He contemplated checking on her in the other room but never reached a decision.

Hermione was kept up all night. She, too, was regretting her promise.


	3. Friday

Draco awoke the next day to the same persistent ringing of his alarm clock. Again, he reached for the offensive object only to send it crashing onto the wall. He sat up groggily and began rubbing his temple. His head was throbbing; he'd hardly had any sleep last night. In fact, Draco felt like he had been awake up until just a few minutes ago. He swung his seemingly heavy legs over the side of his bed before opening his eyes to glance over at the wreck that was his alarm clock. Why did he bother repairing the accursed thing if he already knew he wasn't going to appreciate it the next morning? He stretched and yawned and then got off his bed nonetheless.

He only sobered up enough to remember the previous nights' events after a cold wash in the prefects' bathroom; the reason he had decided he would need the alarm clock was because he had been kept up almost the entire night by thoughts of Granger. He was still thinking on this as he climbed back up the stairs to his room to fetch his books, so when he met her halfway up the stairs, he couldn't do much but just stand there frozen.

She was already dressed up in her Gryffindor robes, her book bag hanging by her side with more books clutched to her chest and her untameable brown hair as bushy as it ever was, even now when she had it tied back into a ponytail in an effort to improve her appearance. Draco agreed that she had failed at this, and that she looked positively radiant. She greeted him with an all too cheerful "good morning, Malfoy," before continuing down the flight of steps. He failed to stop himself from eyeing her retreating back.

Hermione was a bit ravenous at breakfast that Friday morning. She hadn't slept a wink last night, so she decided that she would need the extra food for energy. In addition, she was also feeling somewhat high from that lack of sleep.

Ginny joined her at the table. "How are you this morning, Hermione?" she asked conversationally before grabbing a plate of sandwich.

Hermione swallowed before answering her with a grin, "perfect." Ginny merely raised an eyebrow at her response. Hermione suddenly regretted her enthusiasm; no doubt it had failed to mask the fact that she had been miserable all night. Presently, Ginny chose to shrug it off. Hermione decided to drop the act anyway; she wasn't fooling anyone.

A few minutes later, the owl post arrived. Hermione looked up from her plate expectantly. Her eyes searched the flock of owls for a particular white one, and another, smaller, more energetic one. Even when a barn owl dropped her copy of The Daily Prophet in front of her, she took no notice; she'd been waiting all week for Harry's and Ron's replies.

Neither came, however. Hermione sighed, utterly despaired; she knew the time would come when they'd be too busy with work to reply her novel-length letters, and it seemed that that time had come. She frowned at the ceiling; the weather was gloomy, as if mirroring her feelings. Hermione took up the roll of newspaper and hurried off to class.

It was Friday, which Hermione was grateful for, as there was only one class to attend on that day; double Potions with the Slytherins. _With Malfoy_. His name popped up in her mind just as she caught sight of him entering the class. She watched him all the way from the door until he reached his table.

Then Malfoy looked up and met her eyes. Both quickly turned away.

"What's gotten into you lately?" Blaise's voice interrupted his reverie again. They were in the Great Hall having lunch and the weather was still dull.

"What is it, Blaise?" he asked back, his tone uncaring.

"I asked the question first," Blaise's tone was uncaring too.

Draco almost chuckled. Asking a question in reply to another was Abby's annoying habit. ...Silversmith. He realised again that he was never on first name basis with the brat. But with her, being on first name basis didn't necessarily mean being on friendly terms.

Although he _did_ wish he was on friendly terms with Granger. Then he may call her, he tested the name, _"Hermione..."_

A clatter of spoon beside him made him turn. Blaise was coughing and punching his own chest. Draco hit his back obligingly. When the other boy had calmed down enough, he looked to Draco with disbelief showing clearly all over his handsome face.

"What?" Draco asked, thoroughly confused. He hadn't done anything wrong now, had he?

"So _that's_ what's bothering you? You've _finally_ told-" Blaise never finished his inquiry, for in that instance Draco realised that he had said her name verbally and had hissed vehemently at his friend to shut the Hell up. He checked around the table for anyone who might have overheard them – there were none. Very few Slytherins had chosen to come back for their redo year.

"I didn't tell her anything. Actually, we never talk. Not unless it concerns our roles as Heads," he answered in a low voice. Whatever happened the night before wasn't any of his business.

Blaise smirked. "Pathetic," he commented. It made Draco narrow his eyes.

"Well, do you at least have an excuse to be acting like this?"

"Like what?" another question to answer a question.

Blaise rolled his eyes and decided to drop the matter. Surely the blonde will come around soon.

Hermione put her bag down carelessly beside her favourite armchair near the fireplace before sinking into said chair. Her classes were over for the day, and there wasn't much homework to do. Furthermore, she was exhausted. She would attend to her homework later at night. Her eyes then flickered to the window; it had started to rain. She cursed aloud before standing up and retrieved her bag. She headed for her room; if it was going to be another restless night, it was best, to not sit around waiting for it. She's getting an afternoon nap, now.

There was a deep rumbling in the dark sky when she woke up a while later. Hermione sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She realised that it was very dark, and very rainy. She could not immediately recall on any intention of waking up from her nap, so she groaned and suddenly felt like screaming. Hermione closed her eyes and took deep breaths to calm herself down.

Then she thought of her homework. Yes... She had earlier decided to finish it later at night so she could have the entire weekend free to laze around. She now remembered the visit to Hogsmeade tomorrow, and that she had promised Ginny and Luna to join them for the visit. She glanced at the clock on her mantelpiece; it was nine o'clock and she had missed dinner. '_Very well,'_ she thought, at least she had managed to catch a few hours' sleep. Anyway, she wasn't very hungry.

Not ten minutes later, she was already bent over a parchment near the fireplace in her room, doing homework: thirty inches on Wards and Shields. She felt tired, and shouldn't have much problem with going back to sleep, but she had already promised herself to settle this tonight. So the clock went on to tick away the hours as Hermione continued to finish her essay.

The clock struck twelve as she put a full-stop on her concluding paragraph. She put down her quill and stretched. Her eyes then began scanning the room. The fire dancing on the grate lit the room in a somewhat haunting manner. At times, the shadows they cast looked alive, and even seemed to try to reach out and grab her from beyond the darkness. Hermione shuddered, and was instantly aware of the rainstorm outside. She turned her face away from the windows.

Draco was seated in the black leather chair in front of his lit fireplace, reading another muggle storybook. He spared a second to check the time; it was already one in the morning. He sighed and flipped over to the next page. At times, his eyes wandered over to the door and after a while, he realised that he was actually waiting for her. He scoffed and snapped the book shut. He felt hopeless.

He decided to stare out the window. So Draco got off his chair and walked over to one of the two windows in his room. He liked the weather, at least when he's sheltered from it, and he liked the windows too; they were full-length windows, and he always had the curtains pulled back. He bent his knees and sat down on the carpeted floor.

He couldn't fathom the reason for Granger's fear of the stormy weather. There was just something calming about it. The darkened heavens, the blowing wind, the cold water, and especially the low rumbling in the skies. How could anyone be afraid of storms?

But then again, he didn't know anybody else who liked storms. Blaise certainly didn't, he already told him that once. And Hermione... _'You mean, Granger_.'

'_I guess I'll always be alone,'_ Draco thought to himself, and he realised he only had himself to blame for it too. He'd spent a grand total of six years in school treating everyone with disdain. There were times when he would wonder if he'd like to take it all back. But one doesn't learn from one's mistake if one hadn't done it in the first place. He sighed. Stormy nights like this one weren't always so lonely. There was once another who would stand through it with him. His eyes fell again on a trunk he had tucked away under his bed. The tag on it read 'Abigail Silversmith'.

It was late in his second year when he first picked up the habit of staying up all night. One stormy night in early third year, he had stolen out of bed, assured that everyone was asleep, with the intention to wander around the castle. But when he reached the Slytherin common room, there was a voice there. He had then found that it belonged to a first-year. She was reading a book aloud with a cat listening to her. Really, she was reading a story to a cat.

A loud thunder cracked the air. Draco blinked. He hoped it didn't wake Hermione up. _'You mean, Granger,'_ he almost rolled his eyes at that. Now his eyes found the little vial of sleeping draught on his bedside table.

Hermione in the other room was reminiscing her past too. Hers were certainly happier. Spread before her on the bed were all the letters from Harry and Ron. She had spent the last few hours of the early morning reading them. At the moment she was crying, although she didn't know whether they were tears of joy for the memories, or those of sadness for her loneliness at present.


	4. Saturday

Hermione frowned at her own reflection in the mirror early that Saturday morning. She raised a hand and traced the face in the looking-glass. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying all night; she looked like death warmed over. She blamed Harry and Ron for not sending their replies, which had her resorting to rereading their previous letters from earlier in the term, only to end up feeling even worse, but then changed her mind and blamed the storm instead. She turned to eye a small window high up in the wall to her back. The sun had risen, but it was still pouring. She sighed; if there was anyone to blame, it's her. She shouldn't let such trivial things bother her so much. She looked back to the mirror, and thought up a way to better her appearance. Today, she would enjoy the visit to Hogsmeade with Ginny and Luna.

Still, when post arrived at breakfast, and none came for Hermione with a reply from either Harry or Ron, her mood took on a toll. She frowned at the last retreating owl before continuing to eat a piece of toast.

"You look depressed," Luna stated in her dreamy voice. "Harry hadn't replied you yet?" asked Ginny.

Hermione shook her head lightly. "Ron, too." She was absolutely dejected, she missed the meaningful glances exchanged between the two.

Draco awoke late Saturday morning to find his room bright in broad daylight. Granted, there wasn't much sunlight at all, but it was enough to tell him that it's late. His eyes first caught sight of the remains of his alarm clock still spotting one corner of the room. Despite of his stupor, a large part of him was panicking. It was the natural human need to know what time it was when you'd just woke up from a deep slumber into unmistakable daylight; what if you'd been unconscious for days? Frantically, he opened the drawer in the bedside table nearest to him and pulled out a pocket watch. It was twelve past ten in the morning.

'_Ah' _he thought, _'not so terribly late'_. Never mind that he had missed breakfast. He slid off his bed and got dressed. Usually, he would spend almost the entire weekend in his dorms, only venturing out to patrol the castle afterhours, but today he needed to go down to Hogsmeade and replenish his school supplies; he was all out of ink and parchment.

He also hoped to run into Granger.

Hermione was sitting in a very crowded Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindors were no doubt waiting for the rain to die down so that they may venture out to Hogsmeade. Hermione had to admit, she had the weather to thank for this excuse to be in the familiar common room again. She couldn't help but feel nostalgic being there. She used to sit in this very armchair every night doing homework, together with Harry and Ron. Well, _she_ did her homework, whereas the boys used to procrastinate till the eleventh hour. Ron even often persuaded her to let him copy her finished essay. Of course, she never let him.

Hermione stared at the fire and let out a longing sigh. Merlin, she missed them so.

It was two hours later when the rain finally subsided enough so that the students saw fit to leave the shelter of the castle.

Hermione, Ginny, and Luna were walking down the High Street when a young wizard stepped out from one of the shops to greet Ginny. He put an arm over her shoulder and Hermione could only stare open-mouthed.

"Awful weather, isn't it, Ginny?" he then inclined his head to Hermione, "Oh, and sorry I didn't reply your letter, it was just too long and I was too busy preparing to visit here for the weekend," he said in mocked regret.

Hermione let out a squeal that could easily be mistaken for a scream and launched herself on the dark-haired boy. "HARRY! IT _IS_ YOU!"

Harry laughed and then said, "We've missed you too, Hermione."

"Blimey, you'd think we just got back from a war" another voice spoke from beside Luna.

"RON! OH MY GOODNESS!" and she buried her face in the other boy's chest. He was a bit taller than she remembered. Ron patted her back and almost squeezed her. Everybody in the group was laughing now.

Hermione didn't want to let go, afraid it to turn out to be her mere hallucination. But she needed to look into their faces again to confirm that it wasn't.

The three broke the almost-suffocating hug and were tearful in the eyes. Hermione fought the urge to break down crying. They stood there laughing for a moment.

"It looks like rain," Luna declared.

"How about that Shepherd's Pie you promised us, Hermione?" Ron asked as the five of them began making their way for the Three Broomsticks.

"What Shepherd's Pie?" she asked back with a grin, not remembering making such a promise.

"Well, we've had to abandon work and come all the way here, just to visit you; you should at least buy us lunch," Harry was grinning wide too as he said this.

Hermione laughed. She felt like it had been months since she last laughed for real.

Draco would attest to that. He was just leaving Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop when he looked up to see the reunion of the Golden Trio further up the street. Something akin to a cry started bubbling in his throat as he stood watching them. They looked so happy. _She_ looked so happy. He waited for the inconspicuous group of five to clear the street before trudging back up to the castle, fearing his appearance might ruin the moment.

He wasn't sure how he felt at that time. He thought it was only fitting to feel crestfallen about not being in that group he just saw, but she had seemed so happy he couldn't help feeling a bit happy for her too. He decided to excuse her from her duties in the Great Hall that afternoon. The prefects were supposed to help out in the preparation for Hallowe'en Feast that night.

Hermione hadn't had that much fun in years. For one day, she was a youngster again. Her best friends saw to that.

The weather was relatively clear for most of the day, despite Luna's prediction earlier. After lunch, they ventured out to the streets again. They met Neville in front of Dogweed and Deathcap, and obliged when he said he wanted them to see something that the shop had displayed within. They passed a barrel of leaping toadstools and some Puffapods before reaching the very back of the premise to set their eyes on the tallest Mimbulus Mimbletonia they had ever seen. They left Dogweed and Deathcap with holes in their robes; Ron had accidentally provoked a small Fire Seed Bush which had subsequently sent miniature meteors off at them. Neville joined them on the remainder of their outing.

They were all in the mood for sweets, so, naturally, they headed off to Honeydukes. This time they actually tried to sample everything in the shop, including the blood-flavoured lollipops. At one point, they even thought to test every flavour of Bertie Bott's, which was not quite possible, as there weren't any visual ways of telling the various flavours apart. The shopkeeper was no fun; she had practically told them off and demanded that they at least buy something. Hermione settled for some Toothflossing Stringmints. Luna's teeth were still chattering and squeaking from the Ice Mice she'd been 'sampling', so she didn't buy anything. Harry however bought a whole load of crystallised pineapples; later in the afternoon as they sat down to rest their feet in an open quad in the heart of the village, Harry had the sweets passed around. They were finished off in under ten minutes.

They somehow ended up in Tomes and Scrolls; Hermione had wanted to check if they had any good fiction. Ron got bored quickly enough, and had started pretending to read aloud from the Invisible Book of Invisibility. The six of them then each took turns to read from the same copy. They had a good laugh, even after they got told off by the keeper for being too loud. They left the shop empty-handed, yet Hermione was happy they made the visit.

They even went to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, much to the dismay of the other patrons; Madam Puddifoot's was the haunt of happy couples, and the group's presence there only destroyed the romantic atmosphere for which the shop was best known. Of course, they weren't allowed to stay in that establishment for very long too. Not that they intended to anyway; a little prankster in Hermione only wanted to put out the amorous mood hovering over the lovesick youngsters – most of the couples were Hogwarts third-years, much too young to be wasting time with the delusion that was puppy love, anyway.

The fun didn't end even when it started raining. The clouds were heavy and had been rumbling since morning, and when the rain finally came down, it came in sudden downpour and caught them in the midst of the heavy rainfall. Hermione had initially tried to shelter herself from the rain, but Ginny and Ron pulled her out into the open again. There was no thunder, thank Merlin, and so that was the first time Hermione played in the rain.

Later they were back in the Three Broomsticks again, sipping on mugs of warm Butterbeers. All six of them were still soaked from head to toe, and their shoes and the hems of their robes were muddy. None of them bothered to cast Scourgify upon their persons, however; it was all good fun.

"How about dinner, eh?" Ron asked the group in general.

"Nope. We have Hallowe'en Feast waiting for us in the Hall," Neville answered before taking another sip of his Butterbeer.

"Hallowe'en Feast! Man, I miss those!" Harry exclaimed.

Something began nagging at the very back of Hermione's mind.

"Yea, remember that year Dumbledore invited a troupe of dancing skeletons for a performance? Best Hallowe'en Feast I could remember," Neville recalled.

"Ah. Hermione, Harry and I got to attend Nick's Deathday Party instead that year,"

"Best Hallowe'en ever indeed," Harry murmured.

"What Deathday Party?" Ginny prompted.

"Hallowe'en Feast!" Hermione almost shouted and put one hand down on the table. "I'm supposed to help out in the Great Hall!"

Luna's tone was serene, "well, it's starting in under an hour. They must already be done with the preparations by now," but it did nothing to reassure her.

They were exchanging goodbyes at Hogwarts' front gate; Harry and Ron had decided to send them off despite the rain. Anyway, it wasn't raining very much anymore, Ron had said.

"Now, the next time you get no reply from us, just shrug it off okay? I can't believe you'd even think we had forgotten about you," Harry said as he hugged Hermione.

"I _never_ think that!" Hermione said indignantly.

"No, of course you didn't," he replied with a grin.

"Take care 'Mione," the taller of her red-haired friends then pulled her into a hug.

"Take care of Hermione for us, won't you?" Harry said to Ginny before hugging her and then Luna. He then opted to just shake Neville's hand; the other boy was a bit too tall for him to hug properly.

"Oh, she can take care of herself, Harry," Ginny at last said. She had one arm over said girl's shoulder.

"We'll try to help out with anything we can, of course," Luna told Hermione.

"Take care, both of you," Neville said as they waved goodbye.

When they parted, the sun had completely set.

Draco had fallen asleep on a couch in the Heads' common room. Hermione wasn't the only prefect who hadn't showed up for the last preparations in the Great Hall. He was exhausted from having to do the extra work.

"Malfoy. Malfoy, wake up," Draco stirred, but he went right back to sleep.

He felt his shoulder being shaken with a little more certainty. He opened his eyes to meet the worried gaze of the Head Girl.

He sat up, a little unsteadily, and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "What time is it?"

"I haven't checked yet. But I just got back from Hogsmeade and the Hall was still open when I passed through the Entrance Hall," Draco noted the delight in her voice. He then remembered that Potter and Weasley had come to visit her. He looked up to see Granger positively beaming at him. He didn't know what to make of that. He only leaned back on the couch and stretched.

"Don't you want to get dinner?" he didn't know what to make of that, either. Was she just asking, or did she mean to ask him to join her, or something? His eyes began sizing her up; he simply couldn't stop himself.

She needed cleaning up before she should go get dinner.

"Yea, in a minute. Aren't you cold?" he motioned to her robes which were still dripping wet.

"A bit," it seemed to Draco that she had only realised it as she answered him. She slowly reached up to clutch her sides and all.

Draco merely nodded. Suddenly it felt awkward. "Right," he said, and headed for the door. Granger stopped him.

"Wait!" he turned back around. "I'm sorry I didn't show up for the preparations earlier."

Oh. "Don't worry yourself. A lot of us didn't." Granger only nodded and then seemed to hesitate to say something. She never said it though. Instead, she turned to climb up the stairs to her bedroom.


	5. Sunday

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon when Hermione decided to leave the Heads' common room and headed for the library. She had picked out a random book from one of the shelves, and was now reading it upside-down, with both eyes glued to the doors in clear view from where she sat. The euphoria from yesterday's reunion with her best friends had left her the moment she realised, only minutes ago, that Draco Malfoy had taken to watching her every move with such intensity that Hermione simply could not stand. His cold gaze boring a hole into her was just unsettling.

The day had started off bad enough; she didn't get any sleep owing to the rain - which, by the way, had started as soon as Hallowe'en Feast concluded the previous night - and that morning she had glared again into the same tired, blood-shot eyes. She had resorted to casting another glamour charm upon her person to conceal it, but it seemed to have an undesired effect on Malfoy; while the charm had successfully steered away everyone else's attention from her fatigue, Malfoy had only stared and stared some more.

She had found him this morning in their common room reading a curious-looking book, and she had decided to quell the awkwardness that had grown between them since the events of Wednesday night by continuing to ignore his presence when he's in the same room with her. It was how she got by since their appointment as Heads.

But after a while, she could just _feel_ those piercing grey eyes on her, even through the thick volume that she was reading from, that she just _had_ to acknowledge his presence. She had looked up from her book and had found that he was indeed staring at her.

"Something you want, Malfoy?" she had tried not to sound contempt.

"You just look very different." It was a statement, he wasn't concerned.

She had then returned to her reading, and when Malfoy didn't stop staring but said nothing more, she left.

Presently, Hermione caught sight of his blonde hair again; a blur rushing past the door to the library. She quickly hid behind the open book in her hands and tried to focus on the words. Then she saw that she had been holding it upside-down. She huffed and hastily turned it the right way up again.

"Murtlap," Blaise said to the wall before him. It gave away into a sort of passage, and Blaise walked into it with Draco on his heels. Draco soon found himself in the familiar Slytherin dungeon. It looked the same way it did the last time Draco was in it. The low-ceilinged room with chandeliers that gave off greenish light extended partway under the Black Lake.

"Well, make yourself at home. I'll be right back," Blaise said with a smile.

Draco took a seat in one of the low-backed leather couches nearer to the fireplace. He still could not shake off the feeling of being trapped underground as he took in his surroundings; the gleam on the chairs as the firelight danced, the shadows cast by the various wooden cupboards, and the echoes coming from the creatures living in the lake just overhead. It was always the low rumbling of storms that reassured him of the safety in being there.

This was just how it was on every night he had come down here to listen to her stories. She would be sitting on the floor in front of the fire while the cat sat itself comfortably on an armchair nearest. She was small with dark hair, and her cat was old and obese. He was in his third year when he had first stayed up all night listening to 'Alice in Wonderland'. She had finished the tale within the first week of term.

The first night of the term after Christmas holiday that year, he was disappointed to find that she wasn't in the common room reading anymore. He had waited and waited until on the sixth night, she had finally showed up. She was addressing something called 'Theodore' that time; Draco had known that it wasn't her cat because, for one thing she never addressed the cat by any name before, and for another, it didn't meow in reply as it usually would. Draco had listened to the story up until the part where the boy in the story was sent down into a well by his evil scheming brothers. That was when she stopped and took up a teddy bear from the armchair in which her cat usually sat and said something to it that Draco didn't hear. She then threw the stuffed toy across the room and broke down crying.

Draco never found out why he had decided to pick the teddy bear up and hand it back to her. She had taken it in her arms without looking up at him. He had then left her to be miserable alone.

Blaise snapped his fingers in Draco's face again to bring him out of his reverie. Draco blinked at him and he only arched an eyebrow in reply. He then shoved a roll of parchment into Draco's chest.

Blaise then seated himself opposite to Draco. "You need to tell her, Draco. At this rate, you'll lose it completely."

"Tell who what?" Draco asked as he opened the roll of parchment that Blaise had just 'handed over' to him. It was the essay they had had to work in pair for.

"Whatever it is you've been keeping from her since third year!" Blaise was losing patience.

Draco was still confused. Whatever did he have to hide from Abby? Silversmith. Moreover, she was gone, no one's heard of her or her entire family for years now. "You're not making any sense, Blaise."

The dark boy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You're hopeless. Look, the worst she's going to do is hex you. Just get this over with once and for all."

Oh. Oh! "No, Blaise, I wasn't thinking about that!" He was not that hopelessly obsessed that he had to allocate his entire time to thinking about her and only her. Plus, the time will come of its own accord for when Draco could try and confront the insufferable Head Girl. No need to rush it. _And_ it was none of the other boy's business!

"Alright. So what were you thinking about?" Blaise was trying to catch him off guard, Draco knew, but there was nothing to catch him for, so Draco merely answered truthfully.

"Silversmith." But now there was a pause. He never talked about Silversmith to anybody. The look on Blaise's face was a clear indication of that.

"What?" to say that Blaise was a little confused would be an understatement.

"As in Silvercrafts Company. My mother used to always buy her silverware from them," Draco said, sounding dismissive.

Blaise was even more confused. He furrowed his eyebrows at Draco in a demand for further explanation. Draco complied.

"Old Silversmith's youngest used to come here, to Hogwarts. You wouldn't remember her, she wasn't in our year. I only knew her through our parents, of course."

Blaise was now rubbing his chin. "Did you feel for her the same way you do for Granger? She died in the war, and you feel guilty about Granger, is that it?"

Draco's mouth took the shape of an 'O'. He quickly recovered. "Don't try to analyse me, Blaise. First of all, I never feel for _anyone_ in the same way I do for Hermione, and secondly, Abby didn't die in the war."

Currently, Blaise was torn between laughing and becoming even more confused. He chose to laugh; that was the first time that Draco openly confessed his feelings for Granger. Draco was the one who looked confused instead.

"What?" At this, Blaise could only laugh harder.

Hermione was sitting at the Gryffindor table between Ginny and Neville at dinner. She looked up longingly at the ceiling; raindrops were coming down only to disappear moments before hitting the food, students, or anything below. Not for the first time, Hermione wished for the sun. She didn't bother stopping the sigh from escaping her lips.

"What is it, Hermione? You're not missing them already are you? You've _just_ seen them!" Ginny tried to sound comforting. By 'them', Hermione knew that she meant Harry and Ron.

"Oh, no, it's not that," Hermione's reply was honest. After the joys of yesterday, she had finally come to accept that the worst really was over and that she need not worry so much for her friends anymore; that it was alright now to only focus on herself.

The only problem with focusing on herself was that it somehow lead her to think about Malfoy. She kept telling herself that if she tried to figure out the reason as to why, she would find nothing, when in truth, she had merely been avoiding the act of figuring out a reason altogether. But Hermione's brain was bigger than most, and can process many thoughts at one time, so that even as she tried to ignore the reason for why she kept thinking about Malfoy, the thought would simply crop up on its own somewhere else in her head.

Her eyes now looked again to the Slytherin table. Malfoy had one elbow on the table and was resting his chin on that hand. He had an open book instead of dinner in front of him.

"Yes, that _is_ an unusual sight," Ginny's voice startled her. "But why are you even staring at him in the first place?" she said, giving her an apprehensive look.

"I was staring?" Hermione didn't even try to conceal the hopelessness in her voice.

"Oh my goodness. So you _were_?" Hermione didn't know what emotion Ginny held in her tone as she said this.

"But he did it first! He was staring at me all morning!" Hermione wanted to kill herself for sounding, and acting, like a petulant child.

At that instance, Hermione's eyes suddenly found his. She blushed furiously and almost cursed aloud, _'Merlin's beard, he did NOT hear that! Please, don't let him hear that!'_ Wholly embarrassed, she stood up and speed-walked out of the Hall.

Draco found her later at night in the Heads' common room, sitting in her usual armchair. Feeling somewhat resolute, he sat down across from her. As soon as he opened his mouth to speak, however, he realised that he didn't know how to start. He was struggling to decide whether to wait for her to say something or just blurt out what he had come to say, before catching the title on the cover of the volume she was reading. It was 'The Neverending Story'.

He blinked somewhat as he considered the title. He had read that book. It was a muggle book. He wasn't supposed to have ever read a muggle book. But he had read that one and many others. And he never mentioned anything about it to anyone for fear of being ridiculed. The only wizards and witches who read muggle books are muggle-borns. Hermione was one. And he had often insulted her for it. He had called her 'mudblood' exactly 97 times, both to her face and behind her. He therefore had no right to be confronting her at all.

He now thought it pointless to be dwelling on his guilt again; at least not now that he had seated himself right in front of her and was going to say something. It would be even more awkward to suddenly stand up and leave. Like Blaise said earlier, the worst she'll do is hex him. Then he'll just spend the rest of his days in Hogwarts avoiding her at all times. And testing his food and drinks for poison before each meal. And try to appeal for a change in his timetable where he had that one class together with the Gryffindors on Fridays –

"What are you staring at, Malfoy?" she bit out in irritation.

He gave a small sigh and said, "The book you're reading. I'm surprised you're still not sleeping even with reading that book every night."

A long pause, and then, "Well, stop doing that." She put the book down on her lap and tried to kill him with her gaze. Draco's eyes had followed the book instead.

"Get some sleep, Granger," he tried to make it sound less of a command, but it was difficult to.

"It's still very early," Granger sounded a little confused.

"You need it."

Silence followed. Draco wished he could read her mind; he must have said something wrong, because she didn't hex him, instead she tried to avoid his stare as best she could.

"Don't tell me what to do, Malfoy," she blurted out as if merely to break the awkward silence.

"I know you haven't been sleeping."

He would recognise the glamour charm anywhere. He had had to use it every day for years, before finally resorting to sleeping draughts; not sleeping at all could cost one's sanity. He would know.

Granger suddenly buried her face in her hands and began sobbing. Draco was at complete loss now. But this time, he would not turn his back and leave her to be miserable alone.

Hermione's head was spinning. Malfoy's sudden appearance had irritated her at first, but compared to what she was feeling now, perhaps further irritation would have been better, because now she felt guilty and helpless and too weak to fight against the something that had started bubbling inside her chest. Even she was surprised to find that it was actually a cry. How had he seen her fatigue for what it was?

Hermione felt something nudge at her side; it was a steaming mug of chocolate. She looked up to see Malfoy nursing a cup of tea himself. He was not looking at her; how thoughtful. Hermione took the floating mug and they fell into silence again.

Malfoy was the first to speak this time. "Would you want to give up a memory for a wish?"

Hermione stole a glance at him; he had his eyes on the windows, distant. She wondered if he had said it with abandon.

Then he turned to look at her questioningly, so she answered, "no." She thought she heard him mumble something along the lines of 'of course, why did I even ask?' She then caught sight of the book she had placed on the table. A thought struck her.

"You read 'The Neverending Story'?" she tried to border her tone on pure curiosity; to sound utterly incredulous simply would not do. But come on, Draco Malfoy reading a muggle book?

Malfoy seemed to think about it a moment longer before answering, "I never finished it."

Hermione couldn't ignore the longing in his voice. "Do you want to?" she motioned to the book between them.

"Wouldn't you need it to lull you to sleep?" he didn't sound anything but caring. Hermione wanted to choke herself at the thought; why would he care?

But he was here, wasn't he? Hermione looked up again to find his eyes on her. She tore hers away with much effort.

"It doesn't work," no matter how dull the words became as she read them, they still fail to drowse her. "I'll lend you it."

Malfoy shook his head a little. "I have my own copy."

Another long pause, during which Hermione slowly began to realise all the questions she wanted to ask him, many of which had only popped up in the last few minutes. She decided to start asking them now.

"You read muggle books?" she began with the most recent one.

He answered with small chuckle, "Yes."

"Since when?" she hoped she didn't sound sceptical. She wasn't.

"Some time now." A very vague answer. Well, it was kind of a personal question after all.

Speaking of personal questions, "Do _you_ have a memory you'd want to exchange for a wish?"

"No," and this time he didn't pause before answering.

"Did you think I do?" Well, why else did he ask?

"I wondered. I didn't mean to offend, really. Some people do, you know."

"Who, for instance?"

A short pause, and then "Silversmith did."

A long pause this time. Hermione remembered him calling her by a friendlier name earlier. In fact, he had called her 'Abby' in his sleep.

Actually, it was the only time she ever heard him call the girl by any name other than her surname. Silversmith was their one mutual acquaintance. The image of a little girl with dark hair and pale skin flooded her mind.

She was sitting at one of the tables facing the windows in the library when Hermione had first noticed her. She had noticed because the girl's only companion at the desk at that time was none other Draco Malfoy, the git. He was pointing out a section in a book to her and had appeared to be tutoring her.

It was the first time Hermione ever thought that Malfoy perhaps had some human in him after all. She had wanted to hold on to that thought up until Malfoy burst out in anger at the innocent child, "WHAT IS SO DIFFICULT TO UNDERSTAND ABOUT THIS? HAVEN'T YOU BEEN LISTENING TO ME, YOU DUNDERHEAD?"

Hermione was beside the little girl in an instant; she had always had a soft spot for anyone being bullied by Malfoy. "I'm sorry," the girl had said, her head bowed low.

"You don't have to be sorry," she had told the girl sternly before turning to Malfoy and added, "_he's_ the dunderhead."

Malfoy had then picked up his book bag harshly and left before Madam Pince reached the table. Hermione had eyed his retreating back with concentrated dislike. She then looked down to the girl whose shoulders she had laid her hands on. Said girl had the Slytherin badge on her robe, and Hermione remembered the astonishment that held her at the discovery.

A flash of light brought her back to the present. She took a sharp intake of breath and shut her eyes.

It made Draco snicker. He stopped himself too late before gulping down the little that remained in his cup and set it down on the table. Granger did the same after giving him a pout. A very cute pout.

"What were you thinking about, Granger?" he barely managed to keep the sly smile from creeping up onto his face.

She thought for some time before replying, "How come you read muggle books?"

"They were the only books read to me."

"_Your parents _read to you _muggle_ stories?" She was clearly in disbelief.

Draco wanted to laugh at the notion himself. His parents had long since stopped reading stories to him, let alone muggle stories, the prejudiced purebloods that they were. But enough about this.

"How about I read you one, and see if you can't fall asleep even then?" he suggested with a smile.

Granger gave more thought to it before returning his smile.

Malfoy stood up from his seat and Hermione took it as a sign to follow him. They went up the staircase and headed for Malfoy's room. Hermione stopped to ask, "Where are we going?"

"My room," he then turned to face her, "I'm letting you choose the story."

They reached the door and Hermione entered his room for the second time. This time, it was bright and Hermione took a moment to observe.

His room was as big as hers and it was adorned with Slytherin colours where hers was entirely red and gold. Her bare feet sank comfortably into the moss green carpet, and she found the dark colours of his walls and furnishings relaxing to her eyes. She then found one corner in the room where a small sitting area and a tall bookshelf stood.

She heard Malfoy shut the door behind him, so she turned around.

"I don't want any of my books leaving this room," he said with a smirk.

Hermione wondered if she should leave the room already.

The clock struck midnight two hours later. Hermione had stopped berating herself silently an hour ago. She had finally admitted to herself that it was nice to be here, her head on the pillow, Malfoy reading a story aloud beside her. His voice seemed to drown out the unnerving noises of the storm outside. The last thing she remembered from the story that night was that the boy in the story got sold off to some passing by merchant by his evil scheming brothers.


	6. Monday

Rain was pattering down on his windows as Draco sat awake in his bed. The recently repaired alarm clock on his bedside table had gone seven soft ticks past six-eleven in the morning. He hadn't set the alarm for fear of waking up the person sleeping soundly next to him. Even now, hours since he had stopped reading a story to her, Draco had yet to take his eyes off of his companion.

He never did succeed in deciphering his exact feelings for her. Most of the time, it was certainly admiration. At the moment, however, he envied the peace that had settled upon her tired features. While she could drowse away all her worries, he hadn't had actual sleep in years. For some time now, he had had to choose between emptiness and restlessness, all nightmare long. His eyes now finally travelled from the fragile body beside him to the vial of sleeping draught on his other side. He picked it up from the table and placed it in the drawer instead; he didn't want Granger to see that.

Draco leaned back on his headboard and let out a gentle sigh. Granger shifted a little in her sleep, but she didn't wake up. How he envied her serenity. But then again, his insomnia was not her fault. Perhaps only partially. Draco's mind swam back to that day some years ago.

Draco had 'let' Crabbe slam his hand in a door because he had wanted an excuse to go to the hospital wing. He needed to see it for himself; had the Slytherin heir really went for precious Potty's mudblood? He had thought he'd finally claim victory. He had thought he'd finally find peace. But when he saw the rigid body laid helplessly on the bed with a mask of pure horror in place of her usual determination, he had only found himself entirely mistaken and heartbroken. He instantly felt hatred for the perpetrator despite not knowing who they were, he began hating his father for having something to do with it, and he even started hating the entire prejudice of pureblood supremacy, but most of all he really hated himself for not being able to do anything about it all. Between him and the petrified body on that bed, _he_ was the helpless one.

That was when it started; he simply couldn't go to sleep anymore, not without exhaustion or medication to aid him in it. He was going to give up entirely and accept that he was ending up insane, but then he met Silversmith.

He remembered the night they began talking. It was after he had found out that her cat had died. He had crept out of his room again to check on her in the common room. Indeed she was there, with Theodore the teddy bear from the night before sitting in her lap and she was reading a book, too, but she wasn't reading aloud like she usually did. Draco remembered his heart sinking to find her silent that night.

That was when he decided to come up to her for the first time.

"Why aren't you reading aloud?" he had sounded disappointed.

"I was waiting for you," she had spoken just above a whisper. "Even if I know you're sitting there," she had pointed to his usual spot in the shadows, "listening, it still feels weird to be reading out to an audience I cannot see."

He had gone momentarily speechless at that. How long had she known, anyway?

"Well, what about Theodore here? He can listen to stories as well as the cat had," he realised his mistake too late; mentioning her recently-deceased cat, and furthermore comparing it to an inanimate object, was perhaps not the best idea.

But Draco was surprised to find her unmoved by his remark.

She had only replied in the same low voice, "I know for a fact that this thing cannot hear; how can you even suggest that?"

"Anyway, I'm here now. Read," he had commanded her.

She had then picked up from the part where the boy got sent down into a well by his evil scheming brothers.

Hermione woke up feeling a little light-headed. She had just had a most bizarre dream where she was sold off to a merry group of travelling gypsies by her evil scheming brothers. She was just about to voice out her protests when she suddenly remembered that she had no brothers. She rubbed her eyes before lifting her head a little to take in her surroundings. The bed covers were dark green, and there was a serpent carved into one of the bed posts. All at once, she remembered where she was. She looked over to her side to find Draco Malfoy leaning against the headboard, his eyes glazed over. How long had he been sitting like that?

Hermione sat up, intending the movement to bring Malfoy's attention back to the present. When it didn't, she decided to reach out a hand to touch his, which lay limp on his side. Malfoy finally stirred at her touch. He blinked before turning to face her.

"Are you alright?" she asked as she removed her hand, afraid for it to suddenly turn awkward.

"Yes, I'm fine," was his tired reply. She wondered if he had any sleep at all last night.

A ticking sound drew her attention to the clock on the table; it was time for breakfast, and they needed to be ready for class. They both climbed out of his bed in silent agreement.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ginny's voice made her start. Hermione only managed to blink some before answering weakly, "yes."

Ginny began scooping up some mashed potato onto Hermione's still empty plate. "Slept well?"

"Yes, Ginny. And thank you, that's a very generous proportion," she answered quickly and tried to retrieve her plate from the redhead who was piling up too much food onto it.

Ginny seemed to have almost lost all her composure, "Listen, Hermione. You can tell me when Malfoy becomes too much for you to handle alone. I'm your friend, remember? But how can I help if you're not talking to me like this?"

Hermione now realised her fault. Her silence had misled Ginny into thinking that Malfoy was giving her a hard time. Ginny could hardly be blamed for it though; after all, that _was_ what he had been doing to everyone in the past years. It was high time for her to start telling Ginny the true story.

"Alright, but it's really not what you think, Ginny. And you need to stay calm if you're going to listen," at this, Ginny put on a serious expression and nodded.

Hermione thought momentarily about how she was going to begin. She needed to hurry lest Ginny starts crying for her to start. Hermione found her voice soon enough.

"I still can't sleep during stormy nights. These past few nights, I hadn't slept a wink. Until last night – "

"But you never look tired – "

"No, but that's because I was using a charm to mask it, otherwise you would've known, too. But Malfoy figured it out – " she held up a hand because Ginny had opened her mouth again to say something.

"Ginny, you were going to _listen_." Ginny wisely shut her mouth and nodded for her to continue.

"Malfoy found out anyway, I don't know how..." she trailed off as she realised that it did interest her to know how he knew.

"...Hermione?"

"Anyway, then he helped me get some sleep last night," Hermione's tone was conclusive. It only left Ginny looking puzzled.

"Help you how? And why anyway?" her tone was sceptical.

Why indeed... "I don't know. He just read a story to me."

Ginny's face contorted into an unreadable expression. She seemed to be befuddled and amused at the same time.

"Look, the main thing is, he is _not_ giving me a hard time. Not even since sixth year, come to think of it."

Hermione turned her attention back to lunch. She hoped Ginny wouldn't start asking for details, at least not yet. She wasn't ready to accept that Hermione had slept in Malfoy's bed for the second time last night.

Ginny wasn't ready to drop the matter, either. "But _why_?"

Luna's serene voice answered her, "Well if you think about it, it only makes sense."

Both Hermione and Ginny started. Neither had noticed when Luna slipped onto the seat beside Hermione. Actually, it looked like she had only just arrived.

Ginny piped up, "How can it make sense?"

Luna only looked at her with her trademarked wide eyes.

"Maybe you tend to behave nicer towards people when you're lonely," Hermione mused aloud.

Hermione went back to thinking about this later that night. She was sitting in her armchair near the fireplace in the Heads' common room, her almost-finished essay displayed on the table before her.

She knew he wasn't acting nice to comfort his own loneliness. Because he was _not_ lonely. He had friends, hadn't he? That boy, what's-his-name, he was Malfoy's friend. She had seen them together many times. Ah, yes. Zabini was his name. And Pansy... oh. No, she wasn't there anymore.

Maybe he _was_ lonely, what with the entirety of his gang members being either dead or out of the country.

Or rather, it was just a change that the war brought him. Indeed, the war had changed them all. Harry would agree, and Ron too, she hoped. She wanted them to agree. She wanted them to agree with her that Malfoy had changed for the better, as have everybody else, because... she wanted them to because... well, because –

"How much longer before you're done with that?" the voice almost made her jump. She managed not to scream, and had gasped instead.

The young man suddenly had an unusual guilty expression on his face, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare."

"Malfoy! Oh, it's just you." She had clasped a hand to her heart. "No, I... I just didn't hear you coming in."

Malfoy nodded curtly, "Right," and slowly turned to leave.

Hermione felt a rush of panic; it was drizzling outside and she was sure it'll turn into a stormy weather soon. Malfoy's company wasn't so bad, after all. In fact, it was quite preferable.

She actually held out a hand to stop him as she blurted out, "Wait, Malfoy!"

He turned steadily and Hermione quickly withdrew her hand. "Urm, you haven't quite finished the story last night..." she had a hard time trying to keep her eyes on everything else but him.

He gave her a smirk before replying somewhat smugly, "I did. You fell asleep before that, though."

"Well... but wasn't that the whole point of it? So I could fall asleep?"

Malfoy inclined his head slightly. "Alright, I'll finish reading the story to you tonight."

At that, Hermione couldn't stop herself from smiling at him. Malfoy returned the smile with a smaller, less assured one.

He quickly tore his eyes from her before saying, "I'll just be in my room. When you're done with your essay..." He motioned to the parchment still laid on the table before her.

Hermione turned back to her essay as she heard his door shut.

It was half past eleven when Hermione gave a sigh of relief as she came to the end of her essay. She rolled up the parchment and stuffed it into her book bag. She turned to gaze upon a window in the wall in front of her; the rain was getting heavier, alright. She hummed a small tune as she let her eyes linger back towards the staircase leading upstairs to their rooms.

Malfoy was waiting for her in his room. She felt somewhat giddy at the thought. She quickly squashed that giddiness to its end; of course he was only doing her a favour and maybe it can even be considered his duty as the Head Boy. _'I mean, the Heads need to look after each other and all...'_

'_And he mistook you for someone else that time.'_ Hermione briefly wondered whom this voice truly belonged to; it's always so discouraging towards her, surely she wouldn't do that to herself?

Even so, Hermione couldn't help but think on it a moment longer. It might've made more sense if Malfoy had mistaken her for Pansy Parkinson, but Abigail?

Come to think of it though, perhaps the latter did make more sense. Hermione had never seen Malfoy without his gang of Slytherins and alone with Pansy Parkinson instead, although she had seen him alone with Abigail. Her mind wandered back to that time in her fourth year.

It was the second week in October, and Hermione was reading 'Enchanted Encounter' by Fifi LaFolle by the Lake. Ginny was just standing up to leave her side.

"Alright, I need to be in class in 10. Are you coming back into the castle with me?" her ginger-haired friend had asked as she beat dry leaves off her robes.

Hermione had looked up then from her book to Ginny beside her and had caught the blur of white-blond hair that was Malfoy sitting not very far off to her side. She had answered Ginny distractedly, "no, I'll stay back for a bit. My classes are over for the day."

Ginny was picking up her book bag and had missed the look on Hermione's face as she sat watching the couple seated under a birch tree nearby. "I'll see you when I see you then." And then Ginny had gone back up to the castle.

It was just that Hermione couldn't help but stare perplexed at the scene before her; Malfoy was laughing heartily, and not the disgusting burst of laugh she was used to seein when he'd made yet another insult towards someone, but a genuine, contagious laugh. A smile had cracked on her own face then. When Malfoy had regained his composure, Hermione let her eyes move towards his companion sitting almost shoulder-to-shoulder with him; a pale girl with dark hair and a book in her hands, Abigail Silversmith.

But the girl wasn't laughing, prompting Hermione to conclude that the laugh was indeed at the expense of someone else's chagrin. She sighed; for a moment there she had actually expected that to not be the case. Silly her, this was Malfoy after all.

She was trying to continue with her reading when another burst of laugh distracted her; this time, it was Abigail. On impulse, her eyes went back to looking at the pair sitting to her far-right. Why, the girl was laughing and Malfoy was a little pink in the face; it was a glorious sight. Hermione idly mused if they were exchanging insults at each other. After all, that _does _sound like something Malfoy would do for a pastime with his friends, but she knew Abigail better than that. Then again, those two had been hanging out with each other enough times; maybe the girl had had no choice but to pick up some of his attitude-

Wait one second. What is Abigail doing, hanging out with that prat?

In that instance, Malfoy's eyes caught her staring at them. She had hastily returned to her book. She indistinctly heard Malfoy scoffed and when she dared herself to look up again, the pair was gone.

Later that same day, she had gone to the library as per usual to meet up with Abigail – since the first time they had met in the library late last year, Hermione had taken to meeting up with the girl occasionally to help her with her studies. She was still a clueless first-year on that day and it had pained Hermione to see Malfoy treating her like he did, Slytherin or not. But Abigail had since insisted on standing in defence of the git. Hermione just couldn't see how he should deserve it.

She had said that _'he was just in a bad mood that particular day,'_ and that _'he usually wasn't so mean to her,'_ but Hermione would hear none of it because it was Draco sodding Malfoy whom she was talking about. The event at the Lake that day was utter surprise.

So after an hour had passed during their session, Hermione just _had_ to ask the girl.

"Did you two make up over the summer or something?"

Abigail had looked at her curiously, no doubt unaware as to whom 'you two' was referring to.

"I saw you with Malfoy today at the Lake. How could you put up with that git? I mean, the last time I saw you two together, he was rude and had yelled at you!"

Abigail had let out a soft "Ah." She seemed to contemplate her answer for a moment before finally replying, "Yea, we saw each other a few times over the summer. Mrs. Malfoy had wanted an entirely new, customised batch of silverware for Christmas."

How complicated is that process, Hermione had wondered. Christmas wasn't for another three seasons and Mrs. Malfoy had already placed her orders for them. And surely the two didn't bond over a single meeting; Mrs. Malfoy must've had to come back to Silvercraft many times. But then, it didn't make enough sense either for Draco to be tagging along on each of these visits.

The dark-haired girl had interrupted her reverie then, "What does this mean, 'the effects of transfigured spaces on its inhabitants'?" she had asked in her usual low voice, a tone Hermione always had a hard time dealing with; Abigail's remarks were always easily missed if one wasn't listening to her intently enough.

Hermione took up the parchment in front of her and read over the sentence which the girl was pointing at. "Your assignment this time is to analyse the people instead of the place." She returned the parchment to its owner before going back to her own assignment for Arithmancy.

The girl had nodded in understanding and went on to scan the index of one of the books they had piled up around them.

Hermione was set off-course from that memory lane by a strike of thunder. She sat bolt upright with wide eyes still fixed on the window in shock. Abruptly, she stood up and made for Malfoy's room.

Draco was sitting in one of his armchairs near the bookcase in a corner of his room. He only had another three inches left before he's done with the essay. It was at that moment that he heard a knock on his door. He checked the clock above the fireplace – it was almost midnight – before calling out for Granger to let herself in. He knew it was Granger, of course, because he had invited her upstairs earlier.

Granger took slow steps towards him. He looked up briefly from his parchment, "I'll be with you shortly. Make yourself comfortable," he gestured with a hand. "Oh, and you might want to pick out the next story already; there's only one chapter left in the one we're currently reading."

Draco then turned his attention back to the essay; he wanted to finish it as quickly as possible for reasons he dared not admit to himself aloud.

But he couldn't take his eyes off her as she ran a delicate finger over the spines of the books on his shelf. He stared a bit more before realising what he was doing instead of his homework. Ultimately, he decided to leave the last few sentences for tomorrow. He silently wished Granger had turned up just a little bit later. He rolled up the parchment and cleared his throat to snatch her attention.

"Picked one out yet?" he inquired.

Granger shook her head lightly, "Let's just finish this one first."

The clock struck one in the morning when Draco stopped reading to her. He closed the book and turned to find her blinking up at him. Indeed, the story hadn't quite reached its happy ending yet. His eyes went back to the book in his lap.

"Well, I don't know how to tell you this Granger," he began tentatively. Granger straightened up. He tried to keep his calm.

"Urm... First of all, I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," he turned back to look at her in the eye. She seemed a little nervous, but otherwise silent.

"Well, you picked out the story yourself, so it's not my fault you'll have to suffer for it. I'm afraid this story is not finished." He gave Granger the most apologetic look he could manage.

As Granger's face changed from nervous to confused, and then utterly bewildered, Draco could no longer stop the amused grin from spreading across his face. And when she opened her mouth as if to scream but failed, he burst out laughing. Granger started hitting him repeatedly before stopping to pick up the book from his lap. She turned over to the last page.

"But... What is this book? Why – "

"Really though, I _am_ sorry. I just saw the chance to get someone else to suffer the agitation I got when I 'finished' reading that book." Draco told her, still chuckling.

"But why isn't it finished? Are you sure you didn't accidentally tear out the last few pages?" She began checking the book for any visible sign of such damage.

He watched her for a bit in delight. "Nope, positive; it was always like that." He paused, "I reckon it's only one of the books in a series. Haven't you heard of the story before? It's a muggle story after all."

"No, this is the first time I hear this story. Where did you get all these muggle stories anyway?" she was already flipping back to the first page as she said it. Her question was answered when she reached the first page; written on it in silver ink was, 'I reign this book: Abby'.

Draco saw it, and they fell silent for a moment. He didn't want it to turn awkward again, so he decided to just say something.

"Yeah, most of them were Silversmith's..." at which Granger nodded with a small "Oh..."

"Urm, how close were the two of you actually?" she managed to sound casual.

Draco thought it over in his head, "She was my friend." Slowly, he took the book from Granger's hands. He opened it to the first page again and ran his fingers over the thin, slanted writing.

"Remember last night, I said muggle books were the only ones read to me?"

"Yes. But you said not by your parents, right?"

"Yea, not my parents. Well, it was Silversmith." Draco placed the book on the bedside table before looking back to her. He hoped it wasn't something too personal to share with Granger.

Granger nodded a little. He took it as a sign that she was ready to hear more. So Draco told her the story about the little girl who spends almost every night reading stories aloud to whomever listening. He told her about the first night they started talking, how they met again for almost every night after that, and how the role as storyteller were soon exchanged occasionally between the two. When Silversmith forgave him for losing his patience with her on that fine day in the library, he had consequently decided to give it his best efforts to keep calm for her – and to stop trying to help her understand her studies because he simply didn't have the patience for it. Granger then told him how she had taken up the task in his stead. Draco thanked her in a mocked enthusiasm which Granger found somehow amusing. The Head Girl soon fell asleep, leaving him lost in his memories again.

It was a few weeks into the term after Christmas of his third year in Hogwarts, and he was back again in the common room listening to the first-year reading out a muggle story to him. She had closed the book and checked the time on her wristwatch, "Well, it's nearly sunrise. We need to get back to our dorms now," she announced as she stood up, holding the book and the teddy bear in each arm.

Draco stood up quickly to stop her, "Wait. I've often wondered, don't you ever sleep?"

She had looked up at him and replied casually, "During classes, yes."

Draco had almost laughed. "Then why don't you just sleep at night? You're missing a lot of stuff, sleeping during classes, you know."

She had shrugged somewhat. "Maybe I'm just nocturnal. Good day, Malfoy." And she had left with a small bow.

It then suddenly occurred to Draco that he never really saw her during the day. It was as if she immediately Apparated straight to her dorms after each class to continue sleeping. The one exception had been that particular day in autumn the next year.

Draco was following Granger between classes, as was his habit of late. That time, she was with the Weaslette and they were going down to the Lake. Hogwarts students often opted to sit by the Black Lake when they wanted a different setting for studying, or to just laze around. Indeed it was Draco's own personal favourite. He began scanning the area for a good hiding spot from which he can keep watching Granger without getting caught in the act of it, while the pair settled themselves to face away from the sun. To his surprise, he found his nightly companion sitting under a birch tree nearby. She had looked much paler in the sunlight.

He was only enthralled to walk up to and greet her. Really, she was finally out in the sun!

"I think this is the first time I see you _outside_, in the _sun_! I almost concluded that you were a vampire, Silversmith."

She had merely greeted him with a small smile before returning her attention to the book she was reading. Draco had chuckled to find that she had even brought Theodore the teddy bear along. He sat himself down beside her.

She had then looked up from the volume to stare into his eyes. He had raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Like the snow-capped mountain-tops in the distance; pale and cold," she had said it out of the blue. Draco had only continued to give her an inquiring look at that, eyebrows furrowed.

"Your eyes. I was describing your eyes in the same way this author does," she had raised the book in her hand to him. Draco recognised it to be the book he had just finished reading to her the previous night. The truth of the matter was that she had failed miserably in her attempt to emulate the author's style of describing things, and he had found it hilarious and so went on to burst out laughing. Silversmith was not amused.

"Okay, well. You try it," she had demanded crossly.

He tried to look into her eyes after he regained his composure. At that moment, under the brilliant sun, he had found her gaze to be somewhat scary – her eyes were unnaturally bright. Her hair wasn't really black after all, he realised too; its colour, most curiously, was rather like that of congealed blood. He almost shivered at the thought and had quickly gone back to observing her eyes instead.

"Like peridots gleaming in the full moon," the words had escaped his mouth before he could filter them properly.

"Peridots?"

"Well they are yellowish-green under this light." He had said defensively.

To this day, Draco hadn't figured out what it was that she found amusing; she had burst out laughing at that too. Peridots were green stones, weren't they?

"What's so funny?" he had asked, annoyed.

"Nothing, I just wanted to get back at you." Her mood had abruptly changed back to that of bored. Draco had smiled at the behaviour.

Silversmith didn't look up as she told him, "That girl you keep following around? She's looking right at you. I think she may be getting the wrong idea."

Draco had swiftly swung his head to check on the bushy-haired girl he had followed down to the Lake; he managed to catch her eyes looking at him for a split second before they vanished behind a book. He couldn't help the smirk from creeping up onto his face.

"Let's snog the second she turns back to look at me," Draco had tried to sound serious.

Silversmith had shoved a teddy bear in his face instead. "You should know better Malfoy; Hermione's not the kind of girl you could get by making her jealous. Well, perhaps Weasley has a better chance with that tactic, seeing as Hermione's currently interested in him."

Draco gave her a scowl at that.

Her tone was still low as she said, "it's true. And you're not a very nice person. Hermione deserves someone nice."

Draco had then scoffed and made to leave.

A flash of lightning brought him back to his room in the South tower. His eyes darted to his side to check for her presence. Relief washed over him when he found the bushy-haired Granger asleep. He sat up and reached for the drawer in his bedside table. Once again, he found sleep with the aid of his trusty sleeping draught.


	7. Tuesday

It was white all around. He could see nothing, hear nothing and feel nothing. It was as if he had always been there from the day he was born, perhaps even long before that, and it will continue so until he is no more. His mind was a blank.

He suddenly heard a voice. A somewhat familiar voice calling out from afar. Colour slowly began to fill his vision as Draco awoke from his sleep.

His eyes then met a pair of beautiful brown eyes. Draco remembered those eyes.

"Are you awake?" Granger asked him.

It all came flooding back to him in an instant; he'd been asleep, another dreamless sleep, and it was now Tuesday morning. His mind distantly registered that it was also drizzling outside his windows.

"I am now."

"Sorry, I... Erm, don't you have classes to attend this morning?" she inquired.

Draco forced his mind to think – it was not an easy feat, after it had been blank for the entire time he was asleep.

"No, I don't have any classes on Tuesday mornings," he replied, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "You're not going to get ready for yours?"

"No, I don't have any classes this morning either."

Draco checked the clock on his bedside table. "We've missed breakfast."

"Did you want to get breakfast?"

"No, I'm not hungry. Yourself?"

"No, I'm okay."

Granger then climbed out of his bed and Draco's eyes followed her. For reasons unknown, he found the rabbit print on her pyjama to his liking. She looked absolutely adorable, even with her hair currently looking like brown noodles.

Draco mentally shook himself – controlling his mind wasn't an easy feat, either, at the moment. He lifted the comforter off of himself and got out of bed.

It was lunch in the Great Hall. The noise of the students uplifted Hermione; the atmosphere was otherwise gloomier than ever, with rain pattering down threatening to soak her meal. It didn't, of course, because this was the Great Hall. She wished again for the sun.

Truthfully, she admitted, it wasn't just the weather. It was also a question she'd been pondering on for days now. Hermione never liked it when her questions are left unanswered – she would do everything within her power to quell this. But for this particular question, there was only one person who could provide her with an answer. Thanks to her cowardice though, she currently suffers being uninformed.

Cowardice, hah! What kind of Gryffindor was she if she couldn't even ask _a simple question_? Hermione looked over to the Slytherin table beyond; Malfoy was again reading instead of eating. She decided that she would ask him tonight. Yes, she will, by thunder.

"Hermione?" It was Ginny again. Hermione thought there was a tinge of fear in her voice.

"Hurm?"

"Is there something wrong?"

At that, Hermione spared her red-haired companion a challenging look as she replied, "None at all, Ginny. I think you worry too much."

"Well, I'm not sure what I should worry about currently. You were looking at Malfoy like you wanted to do him in or something. Really, _he_ should worry."

"Oh?" Hermione didn't expect that. Is that what her resolution looked like, murder? She was now blinking at Ginny. The other girl only shrugged.

Hermione decided that an explanation was in order, "I just have something I need to ask him. You know how I am when I have a question that needs answering. It's no big deal, really."

Ginny arched one fine eyebrow. "From the looks of it, it's a very big, important question."

Hermione chose not to keep at it. She quickly turned her attention to lunch.

Draco's concentration on his reading was spoiled by a voice. "What are you doing?"

He turned to look at his friend, Blaise. "Reading, is it not obvious enough?"

"You weren't at breakfast this morning, you must be hungry. And yet, you're reading."

"It's a reading assignment for Defence after this, alright?"

"You're supposed to be finished with that already! What were you doing last night?"

The question caught him off his guard. Draco tried hard not to stammer, "I was doing another assignment."

"And this morning?"

"Really, Blaise. It doesn't concern you," Draco said, exasperated.

The dark boy sighed. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Oh, why shouldn't I be?"

"Because the Head Girl's been looking at you funny."

His head then snapped up to check on the bushy-haired girl. She wasn't looking at him anymore.

"Well, you missed it. She had murder in her eyes, I swear."

Draco realised he should be worried if Blaise was telling the truth. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," was Blaise's solemn reply. "Did you do something to piss her off?"

Draco quickly searched his memories for the most recent time Granger had scorned at him with utmost derision. "I don't think so."

"Have you told her then?" Blaise decided to ask.

The blonde only gave him a warning look in reply.

Blaise ploughed on, "you're only delaying the inevitable, I'm telling you. If you wait too long, you'll regret it."

"Well if I am to take your word, I might as well wait until her current murderous state subsides, wouldn't you agree?"

No more was said between them after that.

Draco was well within his right to worry, of course. The last time Granger spared him one such look, he had received a sound punch to the face. At the time, Draco had thought it was something she needed, and so he decided to give her the chance. He didn't expect it to hurt as much as it did, though. Nonetheless, he was glad he did it.

Draco had showed up to meet his storyteller one night with a bruise on his cheekbone. She had laughed when she first saw it.

"It's not funny, Silversmith," he had told her with a pout.

"Oh, but it is. Whoever was it that dared punch the Slytherin Prince in his face?" Silversmith was still giggling as she said this.

Draco seated himself in his usual armchair. "Granger." He almost grinned as he said the name, but he didn't, because his face would hurt. Silversmith had laughed some more.

"It _hurts_, you evil monster. Stop that."

Her laughter had subsided soon enough. "Okay, I'm sorry." Another chuckle. "Really, I am." And now a grin. Draco narrowed his cold eyes at her.

She was unyielding. "Anyway, why did you do it?" She leaned over, choking a teddy bear under her crouched figure.

"Do what? _Someone punched me_; I thought you figured that out."

"Exactly, someone punched you. You must have provoked that person. You were being a prat again. And we both know our dear Hermione's been under heavy stress, with her overlapping classes, assignments, helping the groundkeeper out with the trial of his pet; really, she's a time-bomb ready to explode. You pissed her off on purpose, Malfoy, I know. So why'd you do it?"

Silversmith was the reason Draco recognised Granger's superiority over him, as much as he refused to admit it – both seemed to possess intelligence that far surpasses their peers, and likely it was because of how many books they read. Although, the pale girl was a curious case, because while she could make such assessments speedily, she seemed slow in understanding her lessons.

"Well, it just seemed the perfect timing to let her blow off some steam."

The girl had smiled at his reply, which had assured Draco that he had done the absolute right thing; Granger had needed someone to vent the pressure on, and he had been there for her. He was perfect for the job, after all.

"You must be so proud of yourself for that, huh?"

Draco gave an inelegant snort at that. Yes, that was true.

"So why didn't you get yourself to the hospital wing and be rid of that shameful mark?"

"Obviously, it'll be even more shameful to admit that I got punch in the face by some girl."

Silversmith gave him a small laugh. She had then produced a bottle of brown liquid from her pocket and handed it over to him without a word, but Draco figured it must be an ointment of some kind. He had briefly wondered why she would need to carry it around with her. Then again, she _was_ a curious kid, and was keen on doing things for no reason at all.

"You could be someone nice for Hermione, you know. And you might as well drop the charade soon."

Draco had merely chortled. "This is no charade, Silversmith."

"Maybe not all of it. You know the best time to tell someone that you want them is before someone else does so."

"Hmph. That Weasel isn't about to make his move anytime soon, I'm sure."

"Well, you never know. It could be someone else. Surely you two can't be the only ones who have your eyes on her."

He had paid the remark no actual thought, until one winter's day by the Lake where he stood trembling in frustration at himself and at the scene before his eyes: Granger's first kiss had been claimed by someone else, and it wasn't Weasley after all. It had taken him every ounce of his might to still his hand from reaching into his pocket for his wand and Avada the boy whose arms held Granger close; that sneaky, conniving Viktor Krum.

The bell rang, startling Draco out of his brooding. He felt Blaise's squeeze on his shoulder and decided to take a gulp from his goblet before picking up his book bag and leave. He could distinctly make out Granger's bushy mane in his peripheral vision as he left the Hall with Blaise.

Professor Binns was droning on his lectures in front of the class again – his class of about 20 students was already ignoring him before he even began, as was the norm in History of Magic classes. More than half of them were asleep, while the rest had their attention on matters other than his lecture. Hermione was usually an exception, but today, even Hermione Granger wasn't paying him any mind because said mind was elsewhere. She was gazing outside the window far beyond the pouring rain, thinking on unanswered questions and dwelling in old memories.

What does Malfoy think about her _now_? Surely he was past the whole filthy mudblood prejudice since the war was now over and both sides of blood status fanatics and pro-muggles had suffered great loss. Otherwise, he wouldn't be at all civil, let alone as caring as he seemed, towards her nowadays.

And then there was his friendship with Abigail since almost six years ago. The girl was half a muggle, a fact she never bothered to keep secret; it was only more probable if Malfoy were to hate her on principle. He was still a git then, and yet, they became friends. Perhaps Abigail really wasn't defending him just for the sake of it, perhaps he did deserve some of her decency. Hermione realised now that there was always more to the arrogant git than he had made himself out to be.

Anyway, how close were those two? Was Malfoy simply using Hermione for a stepping stone to get over the other girl? Had he _really_ mistaken her for Abigail that Wednesday night? Oh, well, obviously. He had called her 'Abby'! Which raises the next and most important question: what if –

"Fletcher!" Professor Binn's voice boomed across the room. He was telling Justin Finch-Fletchley off for charming a paper airplane to fly around the room. Hermione was rather suspicious of Macmillan to be the one who actually did it.

The professor continued on with his monotonous lecture in a moment and the atmosphere was immediately dull and sluggish again. Hermione went back to her ponderings.

So how close were the two Slytherins? Was it anything like what she had with Ron in their younger days? What if Malfoy knew it _was_ her that night - would he have accepted her presence there?

The last time Hermione saw Abigail was on one of their usual sessions in the library on the last night before Christmas break in Hermione's fourth year. A majority of the students had chosen to stay over for the holidays; most were going to attend the Yule Ball. It was a night much colder than usual, and Hermione's second year companion who was sitting across from her at the desk was looking much paler for it.

Her voice was low when she asked Hermione, "So you're going to attend the ball with Krum?"

Hermione was quite surprised. She had only told Ginny about it and no one else. Abigail hadn't expected her to answer, however. "Sorry. I just wanted to see how you'd react to that."

It had only confused Hermione further. It was the unlikeliest question to ask out of the blue, even for her. Especially since she _was_ going to the ball with Viktor.

"Why, how... I didn't... You –" she stuttered.

"I just saw you two here the other night... by chance, I swear." Her voice had picked up a volume then. It was hoarse from severe lack of use.

"Oh. You haven't told anyone, have you?" Hermione had asked with a worried look.

"I see no reason to."

That wasn't a comforting answer at all, coming from Abigail. She was prone to doing things for exactly no reason whatsoever, in any case. "Promise me you won't." Although, she could still be trusted to keep promises.

"I promise I won't tell anyone."

They were silent except for the turning of pages on their books for a good ten minutes.

Then Abigail had spoken up again, "why the secrecy anyway?"

"Skeeter." _The nosy madwoman._ She had spat out the name with condensed repulsion.

Abigail had nodded in understanding.

It was Hermione who asked the next question another ten minutes later.

"Are you attending the ball?"

"I'm a second year."

"No one's asked you? You could, with an older student, see."

"Urm, no..." the girl tilted her head a little to the side.

"Hurm. I thought Malfoy would've asked you, if he was as okay as you always claim him to be."

"He _is_ okay, Hermione. I'm just not going to stay here."

"Okay, alright, forget what I said," she had raised both hands in surrender – she didn't want to hear any more of her defending the git.

Presently, Hermione sensed a disturbance in the usually dreary air of the History of Magic class; it had ended, and the students were packing up and leaving. Hermione stood to join in with the crowd. Faintly, it sunk in her mind that the last thing Abigail had ever said to her had held a meaning in it, _"I'm just not going to stay here."_

Draco was leaning back on the couch in the Heads' common room later that night. He closed his eyes to better immerse himself in the sounds of the rain outside. The cold and darkness it brought was simply perfect; Granger was sure to spend another night in his room. This time, he will tell her everything and get his dilemma over with once and for all. Hopefully she would be over her homicidal mood by the time she returns to the dorms.

Draco heard her enter five minutes after the bells tolled nine o'clock. Count on the Head Girl to be punctual. He was surprised, however, when he opened his eyes to find her standing right in front of him with her books still clutched to her chest.

"Hey, Malfoy. Do you mind...?" her eyes then darted to the windows – water was bashing on them mercilessly.

Draco didn't need her to finish her question. "Well, just come up anytime you feel like it."

Granger sighed in relief and beamed at him. Draco decided not to look away this time, and returned her smile genuinely. Her smile then widened, which intimidated Draco a little bit. He barely managed to avoid turning his face away. His gaze followed her as she went up the staircase. Draco chose to stay back a bit longer to straighten out his thoughts. Facing her tonight calls for some Gryffindor bravery: a lot of stubbornness and stupidity.

Hermione, too, was struggling to straighten out her thoughts. She just wasn't doing it sitting down. Instead, she was pacing up and down the length of her room. How should she start? It was unbelievable how hard it was to answer this. Should she try beating around the bush first, or just be completely straightforward?

Remembering that Malfoy was already waiting for her in his room, she hastily decided to ask the least important question first, and then see if some Gryffindor courage wouldn't turn up in time to save her from embarrassing herself too much.

She knocked on the door thrice but heard no answer. She knocked again before unlatching the door anyway. She peered in to find the room empty. Perhaps Malfoy was in the bathroom or something. Ah, well, he did say she could come in anytime she felt like it. She would wait for him here.

It was only her fourth time being in the room and, strangely enough, it already felt familiar to be there. She found herself drawn to the tall bookshelf in the corner, and then she remembered Malfoy saying he had his own copy of 'The Neverending Story'. She scanned the shelf for the title but failed to find it. Hermione shrugged it off and proceeded to run her fingers over the many tomes on the bookshelf. Some of the muggle classics were there; The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dracula, Frankenstein, the list went on. Some of the spines bore no title at all. Others were titles Hermione didn't recognise; perhaps they were non-muggle. She pulled one of these out in interest.

It was a leather-bound, about-one-and-a-half-inch thick volume. The cover was untitled, too, and it seemed quite old; the red leather looked faded and its pages were yellow with age. Hermione turned to the first page and found herself a little disturbed by what it held; written in silver ink were the words, 'I reign this book: Abby'. She replaced the book on the shelf.

The door behind her opened then with a click, and Hermione spun on her heels to find Malfoy.

"Picked out a story yet?" Malfoy asked in a steady voice.

Hermione only shook her head in reply.

"Are you alright?" he had stopped in his tracks.

She wanted to scream at herself; she showed up tonight to ask him questions, now _ask_, for Merlin's sake!

"Actually, Malfoy, how about we finish 'The Neverending Story' together, starting tonight?" Hermione thought it was just the question to ask.

Malfoy frowned a little. "Are you sure you don't want a different story?"

Hermione didn't miss the sadness in his voice. She bet it was also in his eyes, were he to look at her then.

"Yes. You're currently reading it too, aren't you? Don't you want to finish it?" she goaded. Why she felt the need to press on, she never knew.

"I..." Malfoy went quiet then, and seemed to hesitate before finally sighing as if defeated. "I guess it's about time to..."

He turned and walked to the bed. Hermione found herself on his heels.

Malfoy bent down and pulled something heavy out from under the bed. It was a dark red trunk, and it wasn't as dusty as one could expect of objects kept under beds as big as his; this trunk wasn't left there to be forever ignored. Hermione recognised the thin, slanted writings on the tag attached to the trunk: 'Abigail Silversmith'. She gasped.

"This is Abigail's!"

"Yes."

"Why do _you_ have it?"

"She didn't want it anymore," he answered, off-handed, and opened the trunk to reveal its contents.

Hermione allowed herself three seconds to look over the items before going back to bombarding him with questions. The trunk was apparently charmed to fit more itinerary than was physically possible; she was familiar with the Extension Charm, of course. And there was just about everything in there: her clothes, shoes, book bags, quills, ink bottles, a drawer, rolls of parchment, more books... It seemed like wherever it was that Abigail had gone to, she hadn't thought to bring anything with her.

"What do you mean 'she didn't want it'?" Surely it needed to be _given to him_ before he could keep it?

Malfoy seemed to be thinking on it for a moment. "On the last night before Christmas break in fourth year, I went back to the common room to meet her. She wasn't there, only this trunk was left on her usual spot on the floor," he then pulled out a stuffed toy from the depths of the trunk, "this was the only 'note' she left on it."

Hermione took the teddy bear from him. She recognised Theodore; it had always accompanied Abigail on their sessions in the library. Hermione remembered the first time Abigail talked to the teddy bear in front of her, she had thought her insane.

"It's in here, somewhere..." Malfoy was now pulling some of the things out so he could search for the book with ease. Hermione lent him a hand.

Some of the books in there were written in foreign languages. Hermione paid them no heed until she held one in her hand which had a lock on it. A book with a lock is always a diary, and this book's lock was damaged; someone had tried to force it open and had succeeded, and Hermione looked to Malfoy suspiciously. Malfoy was watching her, too.

"Curiosity got the better of me," he admitted guiltily.

Hermione raised one eyebrow. "Indeed." Although, truth be told, he wasn't the only one in the room who wanted to know what the carefree oddity had written in a locked diary.

"It was no good, though. She used Invisible Ink." He tried to dismiss it.

Hermione was not going to leave it at that. "There are such things as Revealers, you know."

Malfoy frowned. "She wouldn't appreciate that." So he _did_ think of it.

"And yet, you broke it open."

"I realised my mistake too late."

"Come on, aren't you curious?"

Malfoy considered it for a moment too long. Hermione stood up to his shock and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To get my Revealer."

Moments later, the diary now lay on his bed and they both sat watching it. All that was left to do was to spread some of Hermione's Revealer onto the pages and dispel their curiosity, but neither had made any move to that end in the past few minutes. It was Hermione who finally broke the heavy silence.

"Ah, we're here now. Don't you want to do the honours?"

"Granger, she wrote it in Invisible Ink, and it was locked. This is an insult to her memory."

"Are you sure she's really gone? Perhaps she wrote somewhere in here about her future plans of moving out to a different country. How delightful it'll be to find our long lost friend!"

Malfoy set his jaw and his knuckles whitened as he balled his hands into fists; an attempt to control himself for no reason, Hermione thought.

She sighed. "She left it in an _unlocked_ trunk. In the common room, no less, where we both know she could've _expected you to find it_. I know Abigail; she wasn't using Invisible Ink to hide from you of all people. She would've known you'd think of using a Revealer. Maybe she didn't have time to write a long letter explaining everything before she left, and decided that this diary will do."

Draco was sorely tempted to agree with her. But he knew Silversmith, too; she wasn't one to have any reason behind anything she did. She could've simply forgotten about the diary when she left the trunk for him in the common room, _assuming_ she did leave it there for him. And, really? Not even the smallest note?

"We'll look for the last entry. Just that one last entry," he finally decided.

Hermione pulled the book to herself and unstopped her bottle of Revealer. They started smearing the liquid over the pages, starting from the back. They didn't have to look long because Abigail's final entry was on the second-last page. It bled out to the surface as the Revealer was absorbed by the paper.

_December 17th, 1994_

_This will be my last entry, I just know it, and it saddens me. I've been here for exactly two years today - only two short years! - and already I must leave again to follow my sister. She could've at least waited until I graduated from Hogwarts before she must depart, but no... She wouldn't even wait until after this term ends! She just _had_ to leave in the middle of what could be the single most interesting year of my entire life!_

The rest of the entry was a summary of the Triwizard Tournament from Abigail's point of view. Ultimately, she had written down nothing of her plans of moving out with this sister she never talked about.

"I never knew she had a sister," Hermione announced as they finished the last paragraph, which consisted of only one sentence: _"I've got a feeling I'll be back here again – not that I ever come to stay, but still."_

"She did. I met her once on a visit to Silvercraft. I don't remember her name, but she seemed like an older, more sobered version of Silversmith."

"How come she never talks about her?"

"She never talks about any of them. I don't even know how many of them there were. Something about being overshadowed by her older siblings, I think." Malfoy was right about that, Hermione thought; one of her best friends had suffered from a similar situation. But Ron never had problems with talking about his brothers.

She deflated a little as she remembered about Ron. One of her questions was whether Malfoy and Abigail ever as close to each other as she had been that one time with Ron.

"No mention of where she might currently be..." Malfoy mused aloud, closing the diary.

"Maybe in the previous entry." Without warning, Hermione grabbed the diary and splayed almost half of the contents of her vial onto the pages.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy couldn't have stopped her, and Hermione thought he ought to thank her. He can't have broken the lock just to read that one last entry.

However, neither of them could decide whether they felt disappointed or relieved to find that there weren't any other entry. Almost every single page was filled instead with untidy sketches of people and classrooms. There was the Great Hall, the paved courtyard, Slytherin dungeon, Professor McGonagall, Professor McGonagall in her Animagus cat form, other professors while giving lectures, and there were even sketches of the late Professor Snape sitting at his desk during potions class in the dungeons. Both Hermione and Draco agreed that these were the reasons she didn't understand anything during classes.

They were then surprised by a drawing of themselves sitting opposite to each other at a desk in the library. Upon further inspection, the drawing turned out to be two different drawings drawn at different times, but within the same page and set in the same place. The end-result was most interesting. Draco wondered if she hadn't drawn it that way on purpose.

"Never thought Silversmith had it in her," he said as he closed the book. Hermione watched as he replaced it in the trunk.

"Why do you still call her by that name?"

Malfoy looked at her as though the answer should be very obvious, "that _was_ her name."

"No. I mean, you called her Abby once."

"Oh..." a pause, "I never really called her that before. I picked it up from these," he then motioned to the various books in the trunk. Hermione figured that each of them must have her signature on their first pages: "I reign this book: Abby". It wasn't even grammatically correct, if one were to consider it as a sentence.

Draco suddenly remembered that Granger had come in here to listen to a story. He dug deeper in the trunk for the copy of 'The Neverending Story'. He had to dip the entire length of his arm into the trunk before pulling out said copy. Granger appeared to be amused by the circumstance.

He was dusting the book in his hands when she spoke again, "you don't seem to look forward to finish reading this story..."

He chuckled, "yea, no, I didn't want to,"

"No? Why?"

Draco sighed; he didn't want to admit the answer to that question himself. He decided to answer her truthfully anyway. "She was going to finish reading it to me that night."

And then it was silent for a while.

"Did you love her?"

Draco found himself involuntarily chuckling at that, and he realised with a calmer heart, "she was very dear to me."

He turned to face Granger now; there was nothing for it, he's telling her everything. Now.

"You thought I was her the other night," Granger bowed her head low as she said it. Draco inched closer to her.

What's going on? Is she... crying?

"Well, yes."

Granger gave a small laugh at that, but she _was_ crying. She wiped a tear that was running down her cheek with one sleeve.

"Ah, of course you did," she sniffled, "you even called me Abby."

"Mm-hm."

"Just out of curiosity, Malfoy, what if you knew it was me?" she was still crying and smiling at the same time. She looked most delectable.

Draco was now very close to her. She didn't seem to realise it though. "Well, if I knew it was you, I would have... right there and then..."

His time was nigh; it was now or never, or at least before somebody else comes along to take her away from him.

Hermione was discouraged when he answered her so straightforwardly. She felt her heart ache, and her eyes stung with tears, but most of all she felt like killing herself. What did she expect? That Malfoy actually liked her? That he wanted her? How very foolish of her. She was extremely upset with herself, so she shed the tears.

She didn't realise how close Malfoy was to her until she felt both his hands on her cheeks. He brushed away a tear with his thumb, and looked somewhat remorseful. Hermione wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault she was crying, and he needn't force himself to try and comfort her. She had been too presumptuous; she should have expected to be disappointed.

But then she felt his breath on her face, and it dawned on her that he was leaning in closer. Much too close. He moved steadily and slowly enough to let her know of his intentions. She contemplated the whole situation, thought back on the answers he'd so far given to her questions, and finally grasped that he hadn't quite finish answering the last one.

From the looks of it, it appeared he had decided to _show_ her his answer instead of just telling her. So Hermione leaned into his touch, and her eyes closed as Malfoy finally claimed her lips.

The shock that went through her entire body the moment he gently pressed his lips against hers was something she had never experienced before. She felt him shiver slightly, and she knew that he had felt the same sensation. It was amplified about a thousand-fold when Hermione kissed him back.

Draco still had his eyes closed as they broke apart. He had never felt anything so wonderful throughout his entire life. He had kissed Granger for the first time, after wanting to do it for the longest time. And she had returned his kiss.

He looked to see Granger crying afresh; this time, he dared told himself, it was tears of overjoy. At long last, he found the courage to confess to her with unmasked sincerity, "I'm sorry I waited too long to tell you this; I was never a better person than you, Hermione. And I really am sorry for having spent the entire time of our acquaintance telling you otherwise."

She all but laughed at that before throwing herself in his arms. "True, that. Apology accepted." She smiled into his shirt. He chuckled and it reverberated in his chest; she loved the feeling of it.

They remained like that for some time – embracing each other, exchanging silent apologies and pointless confessions – until finally, Hermione fell asleep listening to the beating of his heart.

Draco hauled himself and Hermione off of the floor and tucked her in his bed. Then he slid in beside her and took her in his arms before drifting to sleep without any need of the nasty drug. For the first time, Draco felt himself forgiven.

_**[Author's Notes] **_

_Thank you for reading! :) Let me know what you think~_


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